 CHAPTER XXII The blackness in the room was complete. She spun the dentin to kill. There was silence around her and then a soft rustling at some distance. It might have been the cautious shuffle of a heavy foot over thick carpeting. It stopped again. Where was Lyad? Her eyes shifted about trying to pierce the darkness. Blacklight, she thought. She said, Lyad? Yes, Lyad's voice came easily in the dark. She might be standing about thirty feet away at the far end of the room. Call your animal off, Trigger said quietly, I don't want to kill it. She began moving in the direction from which Lyad had spoken. Peely won't hurt you, Trigger, the ermantine said. He's been sent in to disarm you, that's all. Grow your gun away, and he won't even touch you. She laughed. Don't bother shooting in my direction, either. I'm not in the room any more. Trigger stopped. Not because of what that hateful laughing voice had said, but because in the dark about her a fresh, pungent smell was growing. The smell of ripe apples. She moistened her lips. She whispered, Peely, keep away! Eilis, the dark, would mean nothing to it. Seconds later she heard the thing breathing. She faced the sound. It stopped for a moment, then came again. A slow, animal breathing. It seemed to circle slowly to her left. After little it stopped. Then it was coming toward her. She said softly, almost pleadingly, Peely, stop! Go back, Peely! Silence! Peely's odor lay heavily all around. Peely heard her blood drumming in her ears, and for a second then she imagined she could feel, like a tangible fog, the body warmth of the monster standing in the dark before her. It wasn't imagination. Something like a smooth, heavy pad of rubber closed around her right wrist and tightened terribly. The dentin went off two, three, four times before she was jerked violently sideways, flung away, sent stumbling backward against some low piece of furniture and sprawling over it. The gun was lost. As she scrambled dizzily to her feet, Peely screamed. It was a thin, high, breathless sound, like the screaming of a terrified human child. It stopped abruptly, and as if that had been a signal, the room came full of light again. Trigger blinked daisily against the light. Brod stood before her, looking at her. A pair of opaque yellow goggles shoved up on his forehead, black-like glasses. The cold and aired thing lay in a great shapeless huddle on the floor twenty feet to one side. She couldn't see her gun, but Brod held one, pointing at her. Brod's other hand moved suddenly. Its palm caught the side of her face in a hefty slap. Trigger staggered dumbly sideways, got her balance, and stood facing him again. She didn't even feel anger. Her cheek began to burn. Stop amusing yourself, Ferod. It was Lyad's voice. Trigger saw her then, standing in a small, half-opened door across the room, where a wall-hanging had been folded away. She appeared to be in shock, First Lady. Ferod explained landly. Is Peely dead? Yes, I have her gun. He got it from her. Ferod slapped a pocket of his jacket, and some part of Trigger's mind noted the gesture and suddenly came awake. So I saw, well, too bad about Peely, but it was necessary. Bring her here then, and be reasonably gentle. Lyad still sounded unruffled, and put that gun in a different pocket-fool, or she'll take it away from you. She looked at Trigger impersonally as Ferod brought her to the little door. His left hand clamped on her arm, just above the elbow. She said, too bad you killed my expert Trigger. We'll have to use a chemical approach now. Flam and Virad are quite good at that, but there will be some pain. Not too much, because I'll be watching them. But it will be rather undignified, I'm afraid, and it will take a great deal longer. Tanned tall, sinuous flam stood in the small room beyond the door. Trigger saw a long, low plastic-covered table, clamps and glittering gadgetry. That would have been where cold-fish Balmorton hadn't been able to make it against his mind-blocks, finally. There was still one thing she could do. The yacht was orbiting. "'That sort of thing won't be at all necessary,' she said shakily. Her voice shook with great ease, as if it had been practicing it all along. "'No,' Liad said. "'You've won,' Trigger said, resignedly. "'I'll play along now. I'll show you how to open that handbag to start with.' Liad nodded. "'How do you open it? You have to press it in the right places. Have them bring it here. I'll show you.' Liad laughed. "'You're a little too eager and much too docile, Trigger. Considering what's in that handbag, it's not at all likely it will detonate if we brightly hand it to you and let you start pressing. But something or other of a very undesirable nature would certainly happen. Flam!' The tall redhead nodded and smiled. She went over to a wall-cabinet, unlocked it, and took out repulsive's container. Liad said, "'Put it on that shelf for the moment. Then bring me Virad's gun and hers. I'm afraid you'll have to go up on that table now, Trigger,' she said. "'If you've really decided to cooperate, it won't be too bad, and by and by you'll start telling us very exactly what should be done with that handbag and a few other things.' "'She might have caught Trigger's expression, then,' she added, dryly. "'I was informed a few nights ago that you're quite an artist in rough-and-tumble tactics. So are Virad and Flam. So if you want to give Virad an opportunity to amuse himself a little, go right ahead.'" At that point the graceful thing undoubtedly would have been to just smile and get up on the table. Trigger discovered she couldn't do it. She gave them a fast, silent, vicious tussle, mouth-clenched, breathing hard through her nose. It was quite insanely useless. They weren't letting her get anywhere near Liad. After Virad had amused himself a little, he picked her up and plunked her down on the table. A minute later she was stretched out on it, face down, wrists and ankles secured with padded clamps to its surface. Flam took a small knife and neatly slit the back of the prequel uniform open along the line of her spine. She folded the cloth away. Then Trigger felt the thin, icy touches of some vanilla-smelling spray walk up her, ending at the base of her skull. It wasn't so very painful, Liad had told the truth about that. But presently it became extremely undignified. Then her thoughts were speeding up and slowing down and swirling around in an odd, confusing fashion, and at last her voice began to say things she didn't want it to say. After this there might have been a pause. She seemed to be floating up out of a small pool of sleep when Liad's voice said somewhere, with cold fury in it, there's nothing inside! A whole little series of memory pictures popped up suddenly then, like a chain of firecrackers somebody had set off. They formed themselves into a pattern, and there the pattern was in Trigger's mind. She looked at it. Her eyes flew open in surprise. She began to laugh weakly. Light footsteps came quickly over to her. Where is that plasmoid Trigger? The ermantine was in a fine, towering rage. She'd better say something. Ask the commissioner, she said, mumbling a little. It's wearing off, First Lady, said Flam, shall I? Trigger's thoughts went eddying away for a moment, and she didn't hear Liad's reply. But then the vanilla smell was there again, and the thin, icy touches. This time they stopped abruptly, half way. And then there was a very odd stillness all around Trigger, as if everybody and everything had stopped moving together. A deep, savage voice said, I hope there'll be no trouble, folks. I just want her a lot worse than you do. Trigger frowned in puzzlement. Next came an angry roar, some thumping sounds, a sudden crack. Oops! The deep voice said happily, a little too hard, I'm afraid. Why, of course, Trigger thought. She opened her eyes and twisted her head around. Still awake, Trigger, Quillen asked from the door of the room. He looked pleasantly surprised. There was a very large bell-mouthed gun in his hand. That was an odd-looking little group in the doorway, Trigger felt. On his knees before Quillen was a fat, elderly man blinking daisily at her. He wore a brilliantly purple bath towel knotted about his loins and nothing else. It was a moment before she recognized Belchick ploughly, old Belchie, and on the floor before Belchie, motionless as if in devout prostration, for oddly on his face, dead no doubt, he shouldn't have gotten gay with Quillen. Yes, Trigger said then, remembering Quillen's question, I've got a very fast snap-back, but they fed me a fresh load of dope just a moment ago. So I saw, said Quillen, his glance shifted beyond Trigger. Lied, he said almost gently. Yes, Quillen, Lied's voice came from the other side of Trigger. Trigger turned her head toward it. Lied and Flam both stood at the far side of the room. Their expressions were unhappy. I don't like at all, Quillen said. What's been going on here? Not one bit, which is why Big Boy got the neck broken finally. Can the rest of us take a hint? Certainly, the ermantine said. So the Flam girl quits ogling those guns on the shelf and stays put, or they'll amputate a leg. First lady, you come up to the table and get Trigger unclamped. Trigger realized her eyes had fallen shut again. She left them that way for a moment. There was motion near her, and the wrist clamps came off in turn. Lied moved down to her feet. That fancy-looking gun is Trigger's? Quillen inquired. Yes, said Lied. Is that what happened to Pilly and the other gent out there? Yes. Imagine, said Quillen thoughtfully. Ah, got something to seal up the clothes? Yes, Lied said. Bring it here, Flam. Toss it, Flam, cautioned Quillen. Remember the leg. Lied's hands did things to the clothes at her back. Then they went away. You can sit up now, Trigger. Quillen's voice informed her loudly. Start of slide down easy off the table and see if you can stand. Trigger opened her eyes, twisted about, slid her legs over the edge of the table, came down on her feet, and stood. I want my gun and the handbag, she announced. She saw them again then on the shelf, locked over, and picked up the plasmoid container. She looked inside, snapped a chute, and slung the strap over her shoulder. She picked up the dentin, looked at it setting, spun it, and turned. First lady, she said. Lied went white around her lips. Quillen made some kind of startled sound. Trigger shot. Flam ran at her then, screaming, arms waving, eyes wild and green like an animal's. Trigger half turned and shot again. She looked at Quillen. Just stunned, she explained. She waited. Quillen let his breath out slowly. Glad to hear it. He glanced down at Plule. This was open, he remarked significantly. Uh-huh, Trigger agreed. How's the doohiccus? She laughed, safe and sound, believe me. Good, he said. He still looked somewhat puzzled. Put the eye on Belchik for a few seconds then. We're taking a lie at a long, I'll have to carry her now. Right, Trigger said. She felt rather jaunty at the moment. She put the eye on Belchik. Belchik moaned. They started out of the little room, Pluley in the van, clutching his towel. The ermantine, dangling loosely over Quillen's left shoulder, looked fairly gruesomely dead. You walk this side of me, Trigger, Quillen said. Still all right? She nodded. Yes. Actually, she wasn't quite. It was mainly a problem with her thoughts, which showed a tendency to move along in odd little leaps and bounds, with short stops in between, as if something were trying to freeze them up. But if it was going to be like the first time, she should last till they got to wherever they were going. Halfway across the room she saw the golden thing like a huge furry sack on the carpet and shivered. Poor Pillie, she said. Alas, Quillen said politely. I gather you didn't just stun Pillie. She shook her head. Couldn't, she said. Too big. Too fast. How about the other one? Oh, him! Stunned. He's an investigator. They thought he was dead, though. That's what scared Lied and Flam. Yeah, Quillen said thoughtfully it would. Another section of wall-hanging had folded aside, and a wide door stood open behind it. They went through the door and turned into a mirrored passageway, Plulie still tottering rapidly ahead. Might keep that gun ready, Trigger, Quillen warned. We just could get jumped here. Don't think so, though. They'd have to get past the commissioner. Oh, he's here, too. She didn't hear what Quillen answered because things faded out around then. When they faded in again the passageway with the mirrors had disappeared, and they were coming to the top of a short flight of low, wide stairs and into a very beautiful room. This room was high and long, not very wide. In the center was a small, square swimming-pool, and against the walls on either side was a long row of tall, square crystal pillars through which strange lights undulated slowly. Trigger glanced curiously at the nearest pillar. She stopped short. Galaxy, she said, startled. Quillen reached back and grabbed her arm with his gun-hand. Keep moving, girl. That's just how Belchuk keeps his harem grouped around him when he's working. Not too bad an idea. It does cut down on the chatter. This is his office. Office? Then she saw the large business desk with prosaic standard equipment, which stood on the carpet on the other side of the pool. They moved rapidly past the pool, Quillen still hauling at her arm. Trigger kept staring at the pillars they passed. Long-limbed supple and languid they floated in their crystal cages in tinted, shifting lights, eyes closed, hair drifting about their faces. Awesome, isn't it, Quillen's voice said. Yes, said Trigger, awesome. Then in each he is a pig. They look drownded. He is, and they aren't, said Quillen. Very lively girls when he lets them out. Now around this turn and, oops, Pooley had reached the turn at the end of the row of pillars, moaned again and fallen forwards. Fainted, Quillen said, well, we don't need him anymore. Watch your step, Trigger, dead one just behind Pooley. Trigger stretched her stride and cleared the dead one behind Pooley neatly. There were three more dead ones lying inside the entrance to the next big room. She went past them, feeling rather dreamy. The sight of a squat black sub-tub parked squarely on the thick purple carpeting ahead of her with its canopy up didn't strike her as unusual. Then she saw that the man leaning against the canopy, a gun in one hand, was Commissioner Tate. She smiled. She waved her hand at him as they came up. Hi, Halati. I yourself, said the Commissioner. He asked Quillen, how's she doing? Not bad, Quillen said, a bit tata at the moment, double dose of ceradim by the smell of it. Had a little trouble here, I see. A little, the Commissioner acknowledged, they went for their guns. Very uninformed gentleman, said Quillen. He let Lide's limp form slide off his shoulder and bent forward to lower into the sub-tub's back seat. Trigger had been waiting for a chance to get into the conversation. Just who, she demanded now frowning, is a bit tata at the moment. You, said Quillen, you're doped, remember? You'll ride up front with the Commissioner, here. He picked her up, plasmoid person all, and set her down on the front seat. Halati Tate, she discovered then, was already inside. Quillen swung down into the seat behind her. The canopy snapped shut above. The Commissioner shifted the tub's controls. In the screens the room outside vanished. A darkness went rushing downwards past them. A thought suddenly popped to mind again, and Trigger burst into tears. The Commissioner glanced over at her. What's the matter, Trigger girl? I am so sorry, I killed Pilly. He screamed. Then her mind froze up with a jolt, and thinking stopped completely. Quillen reached over the back of the seat, and eased her over on her side. Got to her finally, he said. He sat down again. He brooded a moment. She shouldn't get so disturbed about that Pilly thing, he remarked then. It wouldn't have lived, anyway. Eh, the Commissioner said absently, watching the screens. Why not? It's brains, Quillen explained, were too far apart. The Commissioner blinked. It's getting to you, too, son, he said. Trigger came out of the Seridim trance hours before Lyad awoke from the stunner blast she'd absorbed. The Commissioner was sitting in a chair beside her bunk, napping. She looked around a moment, feeling very comfortable and secure. This was her personal cabin on Commissioner Tate's ship, the one he referred to as the Big Job, modeled after the long-range patrol ships of the space scouts. It wasn't actually very big, but six or seven people could go traveling around in it very comfortably. At the moment it appeared to be howling through a subspace at its hellish rate again, going somewhere. Well, that could keep. Trigger reached out and poked the Commissioner's knee. Hey, haladi, she whispered. Wake up. His eyes opened. He looked at her and smiled. Back again, eh, he said. Trigger motioned at the door. Close it, she whispered. Got something to tell you. Talk away, he said. Quillen's piloting, the first lady's out cold. Mantelish got dive-sick and I doped him. Nobody else on board. Trigger lay back and looked at him. This is going to sound pretty odd, she warned him. Then she told him what Repulsive had done and what he was trying to do. The Commissioner looked badly shaken. You sure of that, Trigger? Sure I'm sure. Trying to talk to you? That's it? He blinked at her. I looked in the bag and the thing was gone. Liad knows it was gone, Trigger said, so in case she gets a chance to blab to someone, we'll say you had it. He nodded and stood up. You stay here, he said. Prescription for the kind of treatment you've had is a day of bed rest. Where are you going? I'm going to go talk to that psychology ship, he said, and just let him try to stall me this time. He went off up the passage toward the transmitter cabinet in the forward part of the ship. Some minutes passed. Then Trigger suddenly heard Commissioner Tate's voice raised in great wrath. She listened. It appeared the psychology service had got off on the wrong foot by advising him once more to stay calm. He came back presently and sat down beside the bunk, still a little red in the face. They're going to follow us, he said. If they hadn't, I would have turned back and gunned our way on board that little lopsided disgrace to theirs. Follow us? Where? He grunted. A place called Luscious. It'll be there in under a week. It'll take them about three, but they're starting immediately. Trigger blinked. Looks like the plasmoids have made it to the head of the problem list. I wouldn't be surprised, said the Commissioner. I was put through to that pilch after a while. She said to remind you to listen to your thinking whenever you can get around to it. Know what you meant? I'm not sure I do, Trigger said hesitantly, but she's mentioned it. I'll give it a whirl. Why are we going to Luscious? Selam's fleet found plasmoids on it. It's in the Vishni area. What kind of plasmoids? He shrugged. They don't amount to much from what I heard, small stuff, but definitely plasmoid. It looks like somebody might have done some experimenting there for a while, and not long ago. Did they find the big one? Not yet. No trace of any people on Luscious, either. He chewed his lip thoughtfully for a moment. Not an hour after we picked you and Lyad up, he said. We had a council order transmitted to the ship. Told us to swing off course a bit in rendezvous with a fast courier boat of theirs. What for? The order said the courier was to take Lyad on board and head for the hub with her. Some diplomatic business. He scratched his chin. It also instructed us to treat the first lady of trance with a courtesy due to a station, meanwhile. Brother, Trigger said, outraged. Just too bad I couldn't read that message, said Haladi Tate. Some gravidic disturbance. Round of view points hours behind us. They'll never catch up. Ho-ho, said Trigger, but that's being pretty insubordinate, Haladi. It was till just now, he said. I mentioned that we had Lyad on board to that Pilch person. She said she'd speak to the council. We were to hang on to Lyad, and when Pilch gets to lush a shill interviewer. Trigger grinned. Now that, she remarked, gives me a feeling of great satisfaction somehow. When Pilch gets her little mitts on someone, there isn't much left out. I had that impression. Meanwhile, we'll put the ermantine through a routine questioning ourselves when she gets over being groggy. Courtesy will be on the moderate side. They'll probably spill part of what she knows, especially if you sit there and hand her the beady stare from time to time. That, Trigger assured him, will hardly be an effort at all. I can imagine. You're pretty sure that thing will show up again? Trigger nodded. Just leave the handbag with me. All right. He stood up. I've got a hot lunch prepared for you. I'll bring the bag along. Then you can tell me what happened after they grabbed you. How did you find out I was gone? Trigger asked. Your fact, he said. That girl was darn good, actually. I talked to you, her, on the office transmitter once and didn't spot a sour note. Mostly she just kept out of everybody's way, very slick at it. We would have got her fairly fast, because we were preparing for takeoff to Luscious by then. But she spilled it herself. How? I located her finally again on the transmitter screen. There was no one on her side to impress. She took a sniff of Porgy. Trigger laughed delightedly. Good old Porgy pouch! It beat them twice! But how did you know where I was? No problem there. We knew Liat had strings on Plulee. Quillen knew about that seal level on Plulee's yacht and got Plulee to invite him over to admire the harem right after the dawn city arrived. While he was admiring, he was also recording floor patterns for a sub-tub jump. That gimmick's pretty much of a spilled secret now, but on a swap for you and Liat it was worth it. We came aboard five minutes after we'd nabbed your fac. The ermantine figured you'd go chasing after the aurora, Trigger said. Well, the commissioner said tolerantly. The ermantine's pretty young. The aurora was a bit obvious. How come Quillen didn't start wondering when I didn't show up in Mantelish's lab with repulsive? So that's what he was for, Halati said. He rubbed the side of his jaw. I was curious about that angle. That wasn't Quillen. That was Quillen's fac. In Mantelish's lab, Trigger said, startled. Sure, that's how they all got in. In those specimen crates Mantelish has been lugging into the dome the past couple of days. It looks like the prof's been hypnotized up to his ears for months. The last five hours of her day of recuperative rest, Trigger spent a sleep. Her cabin door locked, and the plasmoid purse open on the bunk beside her. Halati had come by just before to report that the ermantine was now awake, but very groggy, apparently more than a little shocked, and not yet quite able to believe she was still alive. He'd dose her with this and that, and the interrogations would be postponed until everybody was on their feet. The Trigger woke up from her five-hour nap, the purse was shut. She opened it and looked inside. Repulsive was down there, quietly curled up. Smart little bugger, aren't she, she said, not entirely with approval. Then she reached in and gave him a pat. She locked the purse, got dressed, and went up to the front of the ship, carrying repulsive along. All four of the others were up in the lounge area which included the partitioned control section. The partition had been slid into the wall and the commissioner, who was at the controls at the moment, had swung his seat half around toward the lounge. He glanced at the plasmoid purse as Trigger came in, grinned and gave her a small wink. Come in and sit down, he said, we've been waiting for you. Trigger sat down and looked at them. Something apparently had been going on. Quillen's tanned face was thoughtful, perhaps a trifle amused. Mantelish looked very red and angry. His shock of white hair was wildly rumpled. The ermantine appeared a bit wilted. What's been going on? Trigger asked. It was the wrong question. Mantelish took a deep breath and began bellowing like a wounded thunder-orc. Trigger listened, with some admiration. It was one of the best jobs of well-verbalized huffings she'd ever heard, even from the professor. He ran down in less than five minutes though, apparently he'd already led off considerable steam. Lyad had de-hypnotized him at the commissioner's suggestion. It had been a lengthy job, requiring a couple of hours, but it was a complete one, which was understandable since it was the first lady herself, Trigger gathered gradually from the noise, who had put Mantelish under the influence, back in his own garden on Macadon, and within two weeks after his first return from Harvest Moon. It was again Lyad, who had given Mantelish his call to be mused duty via a transmitted verbal cue on her arrival in Manon, and instructed him to get lost from his league guards for a few hours in Manon's swamps. There she had met and conferred with him and pumped him of all he could tell her. As the final outrage she had instructed him to lug her crated cohorts, preserved like Pluley's harem ladies into the pre-cold dome, to care for them tenderly there, and at the proper cued moment to release them for action, all under the illusion that they were priceless biological specimens. Mantelish wasn't in the least appeased by the fact that, again at the commissioner's suggestion, Lyad had installed one minor new hypno-command which, she said, would clear up permanently his tendency towards attacks of dive sickness, but he just ran down finally and sat there, glowering at the ermantine now and then. Well, a commissioner remarked, this might be as good a time as any to ask a few questions. Got your little quiz-er with you, Quillen? Quillen nodded. Lyad looked at both of them in turn, and then, briefly and for the first time, glanced in Trigger's direction. It wasn't exactly an appealing glance, it might have been a questioning one. And Trigger discovered suddenly that she felt just a little sympathy for Lyad. Lyad had lost out on a very big gamble, and, each in his own way, there were three very formidable males among whom she was sitting. None of them was friendly, two were oversized, and the undersized one had a fairly blood-shilling record for anyone on the wrong side of law and order. Trigger decided to forget about beady stares for the moment. Cheer up, Lyad, she said, nobody's going to hurt you, just given the answers. She got another glance, not a grateful one, exactly, not an ungrateful one, either. Temporary support had been acknowledged. "'Commissioner Tate has informed me,' the ermatine said, that this group does not recognize the principle of diplomatic immunity in my case. Under the circumstances I must accept that. And so I shall answer any questions I can.' She looked at the pocket quiz-er, Quillen was checking over unheardly. But such verification instruments are of no use in questioning me. "'Why not?' Quillen asked idly. "'I've been conditioned against them, of course,' Lyad said. "'I'm an ermatine of Trannist. By the time I was twelve years old that toy of yours couldn't have registered a reaction from me that I didn't want it to show.' Quillen slipped the toy back in his pocket. "'True enough,' first lady he said, and that's one small strike in your favour. We thought you might try to gimmick the gadget. Now we'll just pitch you some questions. Our recorders on don't stall on the answers.' And he and the Commissioner started flipping out questions. The ermatine flipped back the answers. So far his trigger could tell there wasn't any stalling, or any time for it. Azul. Dr. Azul had been her boy from the start. He was now on Trannist. The main item in his report to her had been the significance of the 112-113 plasmoid unit. He'd also reported that Trigger RG had become unconscious on Harvest Moon. They'd considered the possibility that somebody was controlling Trigger RG or attempting to control her because of her connections with the plasmoid operations. Guess Fail. Lyad had been looking for Dr. Fail as earnestly as everyone else after his disappearance. He'd not been able to buy him, so far as she knew nobody had been able to buy him. Dr. Fail had appeared to intend to work for himself. He was at present well outside the hub's area of space. He still had 112-113 with him. Yes, she could become more specific about the location with the help of star maps. Let's get them out, said Commissioner Tate. They got them out. The ermantine presently circled a largest section of the Vishni Fleet's area. The questions began again. 113A. Professor Mantelish had told her of his experiments with this plasmoid. There was an interruption here while Mantelish huffed reflexively, but it was very brief. The professor wanted to learn more about the First Lady's depravities himself. And its various possible associations with the main unit. But by the time this information became available to her, 113A had been placed under heavy guard. Professor Mantelish had made one attempt to smuggle it out to her. Huff, huff! But had been unable to walk past the guards with it. Tranist agents had made several unsuccessful attempts to pick up the plasmoid. She knew that another group had made similarly unsuccessful attempts, the Devegas. She did not yet know the specific nature of 113A's importance, but it was important. Trigger. Trigger RG might be able to tell them why Trigger was important. Doctor Fail certainly could. So could the top ranks of the Devegas hierarchy. Liad at the moment could not. She did know that Trigger RG's importance was associated directly without a plasmoid 113A. This information had been obtained from a Devegas operator, now dead, not Balmorton. The operator had been in charge of the attempted pick up on Everly. The much more elaborate affair at the Colonial School had been a Travis job, and a Devegas group had made attempts to interfere with it, but had been disposed of. Pluelly. Liad had strings on Belchick. He was afraid of the Devegas, but somewhat more terrified of her. His fear of the Devegas was due to the fact that he and an associate had provided the hierarchy with a very large quantity of contraband materials. The nature of the materials indicated that Devegas were constructing a major fortified outpost on a world either airless or with poisonous atmosphere. Pluelly's associate had since been murdered. Pluelly believed he was next in line to be silenced. Balmorton. Balmorton had been a rather high-ranking Devegas intelligence agent. Liad had heard of him only recently. He had been in charge of the attempts to obtain 113A. Liad had convinced him that she would make a very dangerous competitor in the Manin area. She also had made information regarding her activities there available to him. So Balmorton and a select group of his gunmen had attended Pluelly's party on Pluelly's yacht. They had been allowed to force their way into the seal level and were there caught in a black light trap. The gunmen had all been killed. Balmorton had been questioned. The questioning revealed that the Devegas had found Dr. Fail and the 112-113 unit almost immediately after Fail's disappearance. They had succeeded in creating some working plasmoids. To go into satisfactory operation they still needed 113A. Balmorton had not known why, but they no longer needed Trigarargy. Trigarargy was now to be destroyed at the earliest opportunity. Again, Balmorton had not known why. Fail and his unit were in the fortress dome the Devegas had been building. It was in the area Liad had indicated. It was supposed to be very thoroughly concealed. Balmorton might or might not have known its exact coordinates. His investigators had made the inevitable slip finally and triggered a violent mind-block reaction. Balmorton had died. Thed Brainingham had produced no further relevant information. The little drumfire of questions ended abruptly. Trigar glanced at her watch. It had been going on for only 15 minutes, but she felt somewhat dizzy by now. The ermantine just looked a little more wilted. After a minute, Commissioner Tate inquired politely whether there was any further information the First Lady could think of to give them at this time. She shook her head, no. Only Professor Mantelish believed her, but the interrogation was over, apparently. End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of Legacy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Peake. Legacy by James Schmitz. Chapter 24. Quillen took over the ship controls and the Commissioner and Trigar went with the recorder into the little office back of the transmitter cabinet to slam out some fast reports to the hub and other points. Lied was apologizing profoundly to Mantelish as they left the lounge. The Professor was huffing back at her rather mildly. A little while later, Lied, showing indications of restrained surprise, was helping Trigar prepare dinner. They took it into the lounge. Quillen remained at the controls while the others started eating. Trigar fixed up a tray and brought it to him. Thanks for the rescue major, she said. He grinned up at her. It was a pleasure. Trigar glanced back at the little group in the lounge. Think she was fiving a bit? Sure. Mainly she decided in advance how much to tell and how much not. She thinks fast in action, though, no slips. What she told of what she knows makes a solid story, and with angles we can check on fast. So it's bound to have plenty of information in it. It'll do for the moment. She's already started buttering up Mantelish, said Trigar. It'll do that, Quillen said. By the time we reach Luscious, the prof probably might as well be back in the trances. The commissioner intends to give her a little rope, I think. How close is Luscious to that area, she showed? Quillen flicked on their course screen and superimposed the map Lied had marked. Red dots well inside, he pointed out. That bit was probably quite solid info. He looked up at her. Did it bother you much to hear the DeVegas have dropped the grab idea and are out to do you in? Trigar shook her head. Not really, she said. Wouldn't make much difference one way or the other, would it? Very little, he patted her hand. Well, they're not going to get you, doll. One way or the other. Trigar smiled. I believe you, she said, thanks. She looked back into the lounge again. Just at present she did have a feeling of relaxed, unconcerned security. It probably wasn't going to last, though. She glanced at Quillen. Those computers of yours, she said. What did they have to say about that not-catacin you squashed? The crazy things claim now it was a plasmoid, Quillen said, revolting notion. But it makes some sense for once. Checks with some of the things Lied just told us to. Do you remember that vethi-sponge Balmorton was carrying? Yes. It didn't come off the ship with him. She checked it out as having died en route. That is a revolting notion, Trigar said after a moment. Well, at least we've got detectors now. But the feeling of security had faded somewhat again. Before dinner was half over, the long-range transmitters abruptly came to life. For the next thirty minutes or so, messages rattled in incessantly, as assorted headquarters here and there reacted to the Ermentine's report. The commissioner sat in the little office and sorted over the incoming information. Trigar stayed at the transmitters, feeding it to him as it arrived. None of it affected them directly. They were already headed for the point in space, a great many other people would now start heading for very soon. Then business dropped off again almost as suddenly as it had picked up. A half-dozen low-priority item straggled in in as many minutes. The transmitters purred idly. Then the person-to-person buzzer sounded. Trigar punched the screen-button. A voice pronounced the ship's dial number. Acknowledging, Trigar said, who is it? Orado Com Web Center, said the voice, stand by for contact with Federation Councilman Roadgear. Trigar whacked the panic-button. Roadgear was a name. Standing by, she said. Commissioner Tate came in through the door and slipped into the chair she'd already vacated. Trigar took another seat a few feet away. She felt a little nervous, but she'd always wanted to see a high-powered diplomat in action. The screen lit up. She recognized Roadgear from his picks. Tall, fine-looking man of the silvered sideburns type. He was in an armchair in a very plush office. Congratulations, Commissioner! He said, smiling. I believe you're aware by now that your latest report has set many wheels spinning rapidly. I rather expected it would, the Commissioner admitted. He also smiled. They pitched it back and forth a few times, very chummy. Roadgear didn't appear to be involved in any specific way with the operations which soon would center around Luscious. Trigar began to wonder what he was after. A few of us are rather curious to know, Roadgear said, why you didn't acknowledge the last Council Order sent you. Trigar didn't quite start nervously. When was this? asked the Commissioner. Roadgear smiled softly and told him. Got a record here of some scrambled item that arrived about then, the Commissioner said. Very good of you to call me about it, Councilman. What was the Order content? It's dated now as it happens, Roadgear said. Actually, I'm calling about another matter. The First Lady of Trannis appears to have been very obliging about informing you of some of her recent activities. The Commissioner nodded. Yes, very obliging. And in so short a time after her, ah, detainment, you must have been very persuasive. Well, a lot he tate said. No more than usually. Yes, said Councilman Roadgear. Now there's been some slight concern expressed by some members of the Council. Well, let's just say they'd like to be reassured that the amenities one observes in dealing with the head of state actually are being observed in this case. I'm sure they are, of course. The Commissioner was silent a moment. I was informed a while ago, he said, that full responsibility for this head of state had been assigned to my group. Is that correct? The Councilman riddened very slightly. Quiet, he said. The official Council Order should reach you in a day or so. Well, then, said the Commissioner, I'll assure you and you can assure the Councilman who are feeling concerned that the amenities are being observed. Then everybody can relax again. Is that all right? No, not quite, Roadgear said, annoyedly. In fact, the Councilman would very much prefer it, Commissioner, if I were given an opportunity to speak to the First Lady directly to reassure myself on the point. Well, Commissioner Tate said, she can't come to the transmitters right now. She's washing the dishes. The Councilman reddened very considerably this time. He stared at the Commissioner a moment longer. Then he said in a very soft voice, oh, the hell with it. He added, good luck, Commissioner. You're going to need it sometime. The screen went blank. The scouts of Sellen's independent fleet, who had first looked this planet over and decided to call it Luscious, had selected a name, trigger thought, which probably would stick. Because that was what it was, at least in the area where they were camping. She rolled over from her side to her face and gave herself a push away from the rock she'd been regarding contemplatively for the past few minutes. Feet first she went drifting out into a somewhat deeper section of Plasmoid Creek. None of it was very deep. There were pools here and there in the stretch of creek she usually came to, where she could stand on her toes in the warm clear water, and, arms stretched straight up, barely tickle the surface with her fingertips. But along most of the stretch the bigger rocks weren't even submerged. She came sliding over the sand to another rock, turned on her back and leaned up against the rock, blinking at sun reflections along the water. Camp was a couple of hundred yards down the valley, its sounds cut off by a rise of the ground. The commissionership was there, plus a half dozen tents, plus a sizable i-fleet unit with lab facilities which Selen's outfit had loaned mantelish for the duration. There were some fifteen, twenty people in all about the camp at the moment. They knew she was loathing around in the water up here and wouldn't disturb her. Strictly speaking of course she wasn't loathing, she was learning how to listen to herself think. She didn't feel she was getting the knack of it too quickly, but it was coming. The best way seemed to be to let go mentally as much as possible, to wait without impatience, really to more or less listen quietly within yourself, as if you were looking around in some strange forest, letting whatever wanted to come to view come and fade again, as something else rose to view instead. The main difficulty was with the business of relaxing mentally, which wasn't at all her natural method of approaching a problem. But when she could do it, information of a kind that was beginning to look very interesting was likely to come filtering into her awareness. Whatever was at work deep in her mind, and she could give a pretty fair guess at what it was now, seemed as weak and slow as the psychology service people had indicated. The traces of its work were usually faint and vague, but gradually the traces were forming into some very definite pictures. Flashing around in the waters of Plasmoid Creek for an hour or so every morning had turned out to be a very helpful part of the process. On the flashing all-out run to Luscious, subspace all the way, with the commissioner and Quillen spelling each other around the clock at the controls, the transmitters clattering for attention every half hour, the ship's housekeeping had to be handled, and somebody besides Mantelish needed to keep a moderately beady eye in the ermantine. She hadn't even thought of acting on Pilch's suggestion. But once they'd landed there suddenly wasn't much to keep her busy, and she could shift priority to listening to herself think. It was one of those interim periods where everything was being prepared and nothing had got started. As a Plasmoid planet, Luscious was pretty much of a bust. It was true that Plasmoids were here. It was also true that until fairly recently, Plasmoids were being produced here. By the simple method of looking where they were thickest, the Selen's people had even located the Plasmoid which had been producing the others several days before Mantelish arrived to confirm their find. This one, by the Plasmoids' standards of Luscious, was a regular monster, some twenty-five inches high, a gray, mummy-like thing, dead and half rotted inside. It was the first Plasmoid, with the possible exception of whatever had flattened itself on Quillen's gravity mine, known to have died. There had been very considerable excitement when it was first discovered, because the description made it sound very much as if they'd finally located 112, 113. They hadn't. This one, if Trigger had followed Mantelish correctly, could be regarded as a cheap imitation of 112, and its productions, compared with the working plastic life of Harvest Moon, appeared to be strictly on a kindergarten level, nuts and bolts and less than that. To Trigger, most of the ones that had been collected looked like assorted bugs and worms, though one, at least, was the size of a small pig. No form, no pattern, Mantelish rumbled. Was the thing practicing? Did it attempt to construct an assistant and set it down here to test it? Well, now. He went off again to incomprehensibilities, apparently no longer entirely dissatisfied. Get me 112, he bellowed. Then this business will be solved. Meanwhile, we now at least have plasmoid material to waste. We can experiment boldly. Come, Lyad, my dear. And Lyad followed him into the lab unit, where they went to work again, dissecting, burning, stimulating, inoculating, and so forth, great numbers of more or less pancake-sized subplasmoids. This morning Trigger wasn't getting down to the best semi-drowsy level at all readily, and it might very well be that Lyad, my dear business. You know, she had told the commissioner thoughtfully the day before. By the time we're done, Lyad will know more about plasmoids than anyone in the hub except Mantelish. He didn't look concerned. Won't matter much. By the time we're done, she and the rest of the Irmentines will have had to cough up control of Trannist. They have broken treaty with this business. Oh, Trigger said. Does Lyad know that? Sure, she also knows she's getting off easy. If she were a Federation citizen, she'd be up for compulsory rehabilitation right now. She'll try something if she gets half a chance, Trigger warned. She sure will, the commissioner said absently. He went on with his work. It didn't seem to be Lyad that was bothering. Trigger lay flat on her back in the shallow sandbar, arms behind her head, feeling the sun's warmth on her closed eyelids. She watched her thoughts drift by slowly. It just might be Quillen. Old Major Quillen, the rescuer in time of need, the not-catacin smasher. Quite a guy. The water murmured past her. On the ride out here they'd run by one another now and then, going from job to job. After they'd arrived, Quillen was gone three quarters of the time, helping out on the hunt for the concealed de Vegas fortress. It was still concealed. They hadn't yet picked up a trace. But every so often he made it back to camp, and every so often when he was back in camp and didn't think she was looking, he'd be sitting there looking at her. Trigger grinned happily. Old Major Quillen, being bashful, well now. And that did it. She could feel herself relaxing, slipping down and away, drifting down through her mind, further, deeper, toward the tiny voice that spoke in such a strange language, and still was becoming daily more comprehensible. Uh, say, Trigger! End of Chapter 24. Trigger gasped. Her eyes flew open. She made a convulsive effort to vanish beneath the surface of the creek, being flat on the sand as it was that didn't work. So she stopped splashing about and made rapid covering up motions here and there instead. You've got a nerve, she snapped as her breath came back. Beat it, fast! Old Bashful Quillen, standing on the bank fifteen feet above her, looked hurt. He also looked. Look, he said plaintively. I just came over to make sure you were all right. Wild animals around. I wasn't studying the color scheme. Beat it at once! Quillen inhaled with apparent difficulty. Though now it's been mentioned, he went on, speaking rapidly and unevenly, there is all that brown and that sort of pink and that lovely white. He was getting more enthusiastic by the moment. Trigger became afraid he would fall off the bank and land in the creek beside her, and the, ah, wet red hair and the freckles he rattled along, his eyes starting out of his head, and the lovely Quillen she yelled, please! Quillen checked himself. Ah, he said. He drew a deep breath. The wild look faded. Sanity appeared to return. Well, it's the truth about those wild animals. Some sort of large uncouth critter was observed just now, ducking into the forest at the upper end of the valley. Trigger darted a glance along the bank. Her clothes were forty feet away, just beside the water. I'm observing some sort of large uncouth critter right here, she said coldly. What's worse, it's observing me. Turn around. Quillen sighed. You're a hard woman, R.G., he said, but he turned. He was carrying a holstered gun as a matter of fact, but he usually did that nowadays anyway. This thing, he went on, is supposed to have a head like a bat, three feet across. It flies. Very interesting, Trigger told him. She decided he wasn't going to turn around again. So now I'll just get into my clothes, and then it came quietly out of the trees around the upper bend of the creek, sixty feet away. It had a head like a bat, and was blue on top and yellow below. Its flopping wingtips barely cleared the bank on either side. The three-foot mouth was wide open, showing very long, thin, white teeth. It came skimming swiftly over the surface of the water toward her. QUILLEN! They walked back along the trail to camp. Trigger walked a few steps ahead, her back very straight. The worst of it had been the smug look on his face. HEAL! She observed. HEAL! HEAL! HEAL! Now Trigger, Quillen said calmly behind her. After all, it was you who came flying up the bank and wrapped yourself around my neck. All wet, too. I was scared, Trigger snarled. Who wouldn't be? You certainly didn't hesitate an instant to take full advantage of the situation. True, Quillen admitted. I'd dropped the bat. There you were. Who'd hesitate? I'm not out of my mind. She did two dance steps of pure rage and spun to face him. She put her hands on her hips. Quillen stopped warily. Your mind, she said, I'd hate to have one like it. What do you think I am? One of Belchick's hurries? For a man his size he was really extremely quick. Before she could move he was there, one big arm wrapped around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. Easy, Trigger, he said softly. Well, others had tried to hold her like that when she didn't want to be held. A twist, a jerk, a heave, and over and down they went. Trigger braced herself quietly. If she was quick enough now, she twisted, jerked, heaved. She stopped, discouraged. The situation hadn't altered appreciably. She had been afraid it wasn't going to work with Quillen. Let go, she said furiously, aiming a fast heel at his instep. But the instep flicked aside. Her shoe dug into the turf of the path. The ape might even have an extra pair of eyes on his feet. Then his free palm was cupped under her chin, tilting it carefully. His other eyes appeared above hers. Very close. Very dark. I'll bite, Trigger whispered fiercely. I'll bite. They walked along the trail, hand in hand. They came up over the last little rise. Trigger looked down at the camp. She frowned. Pretty dull, she observed. Eh? Quillen asked, startled. Not that, ape, she said. She squeezed his hand. Your morals aren't good, but dull it wasn't. I meant generally. We're just sitting here now waiting. Nothing seems to be happening. It was true, at least on the surface. There were a great number of ships and men around and near luscious, but they weren't in view. They were ready to jump in any direction at any moment, but they had nothing to jump at yet. The commissioner's transmitters hadn't signaled more than two or three times in the last two days. Even the short communicators remained mostly silent. Cheer up, dull, Quillen said. Something's bound to break pretty soon. That evening a DeViga ship came zooming in on luscious. They were prepared for it, of course, that somebody came around from time to time to look over the local plasmoid crop was only to be expected. As the ship surfaced in atmosphere on the other side of the planet, four one-man scout fighters flashed in on it from four points of the horizon. Radiation screens up. They tacked holding beams on it and braced themselves. A Federation destroyer appeared in the air above it. The DeVegas ship couldn't escape, so it blew itself up. They were prepared for that, too. The DeVegas pilot was being dead-brained three minutes later. He didn't know a significant thing except the exact coordinates of an armed subterranean DeVegas dome three days run away. The scout ships that had been hunting for the dome went howling in toward it from every direction. The more massive naval vessels of the Federation followed behind. There was no hurry for the heavies. The captured DeVegas ship's attempt to beam a warning to its base had been smothered without effort. The scouts were getting in fast enough to block escape attempts. Then now we split forces, the Commissioner said. He was the only one Trigger thought who didn't seem too enormously excited by it all. Quillen, you and your group get going. They can use you there a whole lot better than we can here. For just a second Quillen looked like a man being dragged violently in two directions. He didn't look at Trigger. He asked, think it's wise to leave you people unguarded? Quillen, said Commissioner Tate, that's the first time in my life anybody has suggested I need it, guarding. Sorry, sir, said Quillen. You mean, Trigger said, we're not going, we're just staying here? You've got an appointment, remember, the Commissioner said. Quillen and Company were gone within the hour. Mantelish, Haladi Tate, Lyad, and Trigger stayed at camp. Luscious looked very lonely. It isn't just the King Plasmoid they're hoping to catch there, the Commissioner told Trigger. And I wouldn't care, frankly, if the thing stayed lost the next few thousand years, but we had a very odd report last week. The Federation's undercover boys have been scanning the DeVegas worlds in Trannist very closely late, naturally. The report is that there isn't the slightest evidence that a single one of the top members of the DeVegas hierarchy has been on any of their worlds in the past two months. Oh, she said. They think they're out here? That dome? That's what's suspected. But why? He scratched his chin. If anyone knows, they haven't told me. It's probably nothing nice. Trigger pondered. You'd think they'd used facsimile, she said, like Lyad. Oh, they did, he said. They did. That's one of the reasons for being pretty sure they're gone. They're nowhere near as expert at that facsimile business as the Trannist characters. A little studying of the recording showed the facts were just that. Trigger pondered again. Did they find anything on Trannist? Yes. One combat strength squadron of those souped-up frigates of the Aurora class they're allowed by treaty can't be accounted for. Trigger cupped her chin in her hands and looked at him. Is that why we've stayed on Luscious-Haladi, the four of us? It's one reason. That repulsive thing of yours is another. What about him? I have a pretty strong feeling, he said, that while they'll probably find the hierarchy in that DeVigas dome, they won't find the 112-113 item there. So Lyad still is gambling, Trigger said, and we're gambling we'll get more out of her next play than she does. She hesitated. Haladi? Yes? When did you decide it would be better if nobody ever got to see that King Plasmoid again? Haladi Tate said, about the time I saw the reconstruction of that yellow monster of Balmortans. Frankly, Trigger, there was a good deal of discussion of possibilities along that line before we decided to announce the discovery of Harvest Moon. If we could have just kept it hidden away for a couple of centuries, until there was considerably more good sense around the hub, we probably would have done it. But somebody was bound to run across at some time, and the stuff did look as if it might be extremely valuable, so we took the chance. And now you'd like to untake it? If it's still possible, half the Fed Council probably would like to see it happen, but they don't even dare think along those lines. There could be a blow-up that would throw hub politics back into the kind of snarl they haven't been in for a hundred years. If anything is done, it will have to look as if it had been something nobody could have helped. And that still might be bad enough. I suppose so. Pilate? Yes? She shook her head. Nothing, or if it is, I'll ask you later. She stood up. I think I'll go have my swim. She still went loafing in Plasmoid Creek in the mornings. The bat had been identified as an innocent victim of appearances, a very mild-mannered beast dedicated to the pursuit and engulfment of large moth-like bugs which hung around water-courses. Luscious still looked like the safest of all possible worlds for any creature as vigorous as a human being, but she kept the dent in near now, just in case. She stretched out again in this unwarmed water, selected a smooth rock to rest her head on, wriggled into the sand a little so the current wouldn't shift her and close her eyes. She lay still, breathing slowly. That was coming more easily and quickly every morning, but the information which had begun to filter through in the last few days wasn't at all calculated to make one happy. She was afraid now she was going to die in this thing. She had almost let it slip out to Hulati, which wouldn't have helped in the least. She'd have to watch that in the future. Repulsive hadn't exactly said she would die. He'd said maybe. Love was scared too, scared badly. Trigger lay quiet, her thoughts, her attention drifting softly inward and down. Creek water rippled against her cheek. It was all because that one clock moved so slowly. That was the thing that couldn't be changed, ever. CHAPTER XXVI Three mornings later the emergency signal called her back to camp on the double. Trigger ran over the developments of the past days in her mind as she trodded along the path, getting dressed more or less on the way. The DeVegas Dome was solidly invested by now, its transmitters blanked out. It hadn't tried to communicate with its attackers. On their part the Fedships weren't pushing the attack. They were holding the point, waiting for the big, slow wrecking boats to arrive, which would very gently and delicately start uncovering and opening the Dome, taking it apart, piece by piece. The Hierarchy could surrender themselves and whatever they were hiding in there at any point in the process. They didn't have a chance. Nobody and nothing had escaped. The Scouts had swatted down a few DeVegas vessels on the way in, but those had been headed toward the Dome, not away from it. Perhaps the Psychology Service ship had arrived several days ahead of time. The other three weren't in the camp, but the lock to the Commissioner's ship stood open. Trigger went in and found them gathered up front. The Commissioner had swung the transmitter cabinet aside and was back there, prowling among the power leads. What's wrong? Trigger asked. Transmetter went out, he said. Don't know why yet. Grab some tools and help me check. She slipped on her work gloves, grabbed some tools, and joined him. Lyad and Mantelish watched them silently. They found the first spots of the Fungus a few minutes later. Fungus, Mantelish said, startled. He began to rumble in his pockets. My microscope. I have it. Lyad handed it to him. She looked at him with concern. You don't think. It seems possible. We did come in here last night, remember, and we came straight from the lab. But we had been decontaminated, Lyad said puzzedly. Don't try to walk in here, Professor. Trigger warned as he lumbered forward. We might have to de-electrocute you. The Commissioner will scrape off a sample and hand it out. This stuff, if it's what you think it might be, is it poisonous? Quite armless to life, my dear, said the Professor, bending over the patch of greenish gray scum the Commissioner had reached out to him. But ruinous and delicate d'instruments, that's why we're so careful. Haladi Tate glanced at Trigger. Better look in the black box, Trig, he said. She nodded and warmed herself further into the innards of the transmitters. A minute later she announced, full of it. And that's the one part we can't repair or replace, of course. Is it your beast, Professor? It seems to be, Mantelish said, unhappily. But we have at least a solvent, which will remove it from the equipment. Trigger came sliding out from under the transmitters, the detached black box under one arm. Better use it then before the stuff gets to the rest of the ship. It won't help the black box. She shook it. It tinkled. Shot, she said. There went another quarter million of your credits, Commissioner. Mantelish and Lied headed for the lock to get the solvent. Trigger slipped off her work gloves and turned to follow them. Might be a while before I'm back, she said. The Commissioner started to say something, then nodded and climbed back into the transmitters. After a few minutes Mantelish came puffing in with sprayers and cans of solvent. It's at least fortunate you tried to put out a call just now, he said. It might have done incalculable damage. Doubt it, a lot, he said. A few more instruments might have gone, like the communicators, the main equipment is fungus proof. How do you attach this thing? Mantelish showed him. The Commissioner thanked him. He directed a fine spray of the solvent into the black box and watched the fungus melt. Happened to notice where Trigger and Lied went, he asked. Eh, said Mantelish, he reflected. I saw them walking down toward the camp talking together as I came in, he recalled. Should I go get them? Don't bother, a lot, he said, they'll be back. They came walking back into the ship around half an hour later. Both their faces looked rather white and strained. Lied has something she wants to tell you, a lot, he Trigger said. Where's Mantelish? In his lab. Taken a nap, I believe. That's good, we don't want him here for this. Go ahead, Lied, just the important stuff. You can give us the details after we've left. Three hours later the ship was well away from Luscious, traveling subspace, traveling fast. Trigger walked up into the control section. Mantelish is still asleep, she said. They'd fed the Professor a doped drink to get him aboard without detailed explanation and argument about how much of the lab should be loaded on the ship first. Shall I get Lied out of her cabin for the rest of the story, or wait till he wakes up? Better wait, said the Commissioner. He'll come out of it in about an hour and he might as well hear it with us. Looks like navigating is going to be a little rough for a spell, anyway. There nodded and sat down in the control next to his. After a while he glanced over at her. How did you get her to talk, he asked. We went back into the woods a bit. I tied her over a stump and broke two sticks across the first seat of Trannist. Got the idea from me whole, sort of, Trigger added vaguely. When I picked up a third stick, Lied got awfully anxious to keep things at just a fast conversational level. We kept it there. Hmm, said the Commissioner. You don't feel she did any lying this time? I doubt it. I tapped her one now and then just to make sure she didn't slow down enough to do much thinking. Besides, I'd got the whole business down on a pocket recorder, and Lied knew it. If she makes one more goof till this deal is over, the recorder gets released to the Hub's news viewer outfits, yowls and all. She'd sooner lose Trannist than risk having that happen. She'll be good. Yeah, probably, he said thoughtfully. About that substation, would you feel more comfortable if we went after that bunch around the DeVegas Dome first and got us an escort for the trip? Sure, Trigger said. But that would just about kill any chances of doing anything personally, wouldn't it? I'm afraid so. Scout intelligence will go along pretty far with me, but they couldn't go that far. We might be able to contact Quillen individually, though. He's a top-notch man and a fighter. It doesn't seem to me, Trigger said, that we ought to run any risk of being spotted till we know exactly what this thing is like. Well, said the commissioner, I'm with you there. We shouldn't. What about Mantelish and Lied? You can't let them know, either. The commissioner motioned with his head. The rest cubicle back of the cabins. If we see a chance to do anything, we'll pop them both into rest. I can dream up something to make that look plausible afterwards, I think. Trigger was silent a moment. Lied had told them she'd dispatched the Aurora to stand guard over a subspace station where the missing King plasmoid presently was housed until both she and the combat squadron from Trannis could arrive there. The exact location of that station had been the most valuable of the bits of information she had extracted so painstakingly from Balmorden. The coordinates were centered on the commissioner's course-screen at the moment. How about that Trannis squadron, Trigger asked? Think Lied might have risked a lie, and they could get out here in time to interfere? No, said the commissioner. She had to have some idea of where to send them before starting them out of the hub. They'll be doing fine if they make it to the substation in another two weeks. Now, the Aurora. If they started for Luscious right after Lied called them last night, at best they can't get there any sooner than we can get to the substation. I figure that at four days. If they turn right around then and start back, Trigger laughed. You can bet on that, she said. The commissioner had used his ship's guns to brand the substation's coordinates and 20-mile figures into a mountain plateau above Plasmoid Creek. They'd left much more detailed information in camp, but there was a chance it would be overlooked and too hurry to search. Then they'll show up at the substation again four or five days behind us, the commissioner said. So there are no problem, but our own outfits fast as ships can cut across from the DeVigas Dome in less than three days after their search party messages from Luscious to tell them we've stopped transmitting and where we've gone, or the psychology ship might get to Luscious before the search party does and start transmitting about the coordinates. In any case, Trigger said, it's our own boys who are likely to be the problem. Yes, I'd say we should have two days, give or take a few hours after we get to the station to see if we can do anything useful and get it done. Of course, somebody might come wondering into Luscious right now and start wondering about those coordinate figures, or drop in at our camp and discover we're gone. But that's not very likely, after all. Couldn't be helped anyway, Trigger said. No, if we knock ourselves out in this job, somebody besides Laiad's Trana Squadron in the DeVigas has to know just where the station is. He shook his head. Ah, Laiad. I figured she'd know how to run the transmitters, so I gave her the chance, but I never imagined she'd be a good enough engineer to get inside them and mess them out without killing herself. Laiad has her points, Trigger said. Too bad she grew up a rat. You had a playback attachment stuck in there then? Naturally. Full of the fungus, I suppose. Fall of it, said the commissioner. Well, Laiad's still lost on that maneuver, much less comfortably than she might have, too. I think she'd agree with you there, Trigger said. Laiad's first assignment after Professor Mantelish came out of the dope was to snap him back into trance and explain to him how he had once more been put under hypno-control and used for her felonious ends by the First Lady of Trannist. They let him work off his rage while he was still under partial control. Then the ermantine woke him up. He stared at her coldly. You are a deceitful woman, Laiad ermantine, he declared. I don't wish to see you about my labs again at any time under any pretext. Is that understood? Yes, Professor Laiad said, and I'm sorry that I believed it necessary to Mantelish snorted. Sorry, necessary. Just to be certain it doesn't happen again, I shall make up a batch of anti-hypno pills if I can remember the prescription. I happen, the ermantine ventured, to know a very good prescription for the purpose, Professor, if you will permit me. Mantelish stood up. I'll accept no prescriptions from you, he said ictly. He looked at Trigger as he turned to walk out of the cabin. Or drinks from you, either, Trigger R.G., he growled. Who, in that great spiraling galaxy, is there left to trust? Sorry, Professor, Trigger said meekly. In half an hour or so he calmed down enough to join the others in the lounge to get the final story on Guest Fail and the missing King Plasmoid from the ermantine. After Guest Fail, Wyatt reported, had died very shortly after leaving the man-system, and with him had died every man on board the U-League's transport ship. It might be simplest, she went on, to relate the first series of events from the Plasmoid's point of view. Point of view, Professor Mantelish interrupted. The Plasmoid has awareness, then? Oh, yes, that one does. Self-awareness? Definitely. Ah-ho! But then, Professor, Trigger interrupted politely in turn. May I get you a drink? He glared at her, growled, and then grinned. I'll shut up, he said. Wyatt went on. Dr. Fail had resumed experimentation with the 112-113 unit almost as soon as he was alone with it, and one of the first things he did was to detach the small 113 section from the main one. The point Dr. Fail hadn't adequately considered when he took this step was that 113's function appeared to be that of a restraining, limiting, or counteracting device on its vastly larger partner. The old Galactics obviously had been aware of dangerous potentialities in their more advanced creations, and had used this means of regulating them. That the method was reliable was indicated by the fact that in the 30,000 years since the old Galactics had vanished, the 112 had remained restricted to the operations required for the maintenance of Harvest Moon. But it hadn't liked being restricted, and it had been very much aware of the possibilities offered by the new life-forms which lately had intruded on Harvest Moon. The instant it found itself free, it attempted to take control of the human minds in its environment. Mind-level control, Mantelish exclaimed, looking startled. Not unheard of, of course, and we'd been considering, but of human minds? Lyad nodded. It can contact human minds, she said, though, perhaps rather fortunately, it can project that particular field effect only within a quite limited radius, a little less the DeVecus found later than five miles. Mantelish shook his head frowning. He turned toward the commissioner. A lotty, he said emphatically. I believe that thing could be dangerous. For a moment they all looked at him. Then the commissioner cleared his throat. It's a possibility, Mantelish, he admitted. We will give it thought later. What, trigger asked Lyad, killed the people on the ship. The attempt to control them, Lyad said. Doctor Fale apparently had died as he was leaving the laboratory with the one-thirteen unit. The other men died wherever they were. The ship, running subspace and pilotless, plowed headlong into the next gravidic twister and broke up. A DeVecus ship's detectors picked up the wreckage three days later. Balmorden was on board the DeVecus ship and in charge. The DeVecus, at the time, were at least as plasmoid hungry as anybody else and knew they were not likely to see their hunger gratified for several decades. The wreck of a U-League ship in the Manin area decidedly was worth investigating. If the big plasmoid hadn't been capable of learning from its mistakes, the DeVecus investigating party also would have died. Since it could, and did learn, they lived. The searchers discovered human remains and the crushed remnants of the one-thirteen unit in a collapsed section of the ship. Then they discovered the big plasmoid, alive in subspace, undamaged, and very conscious of the difficulties it now faced. It had already initiated its first attempt to solve the difficulties. It was incapable of outward motion and could not change its own structure, but it was no longer alone. It had constructed a small work plasmoid with visual and manipulating organs, as indifferent to exposure to subspace as its designer. When the boarding party encountered the twain, the working plasmoid apparently was attempting to perform some operation on the frozen and shriveled brain of one of the human cadavers. Balmorden was a scientist of no mean stature among the DeVecus. He did not understand immediately what he saw, but he realized the probable importance of understanding it. He had the plasmoids and their lifeless human research object transferred to the DeVecus ship and settled down to observe what they did. Released, the working plasmoid went back immediately to its task. It completed it. Then Balmorden, and presumably the plasmoids, waited. Nothing happened. Finally, Balmorden investigated the dead brain. Installed in it, he found what appeared to be near microscopic energy receivers of plasmoid material. There was nothing to indicate what type of energy they were to or could receive. DeVecus scientists, when they happened to be of the hierarchy, always had enjoyed one great advantage over most of their colleagues in the Federation. They had no difficulty in obtaining human volunteers to act as subjects for experimental work. Balmorden appointed three of his least valuable crew members as volunteers for the plasmoids' experiments. The first of the three died almost immediately. The plasmoid, it turned out, lacked understanding of, among other things, the use and need of anesthetics. Balmorden accordingly assisted obligingly in the second operation. He was delighted when it became apparent that his assistance was being willingly and comprehendingly accepted. This subject did not die immediately, but he did not regain consciousness after the plasmoid devices had been installed, and some hours later he did die in convulsions. Number three was more fortunate. He regained consciousness. He complained of headaches, and after he had slept of nightmares. The next day he went into shock for a period of several hours. When he came out of it he reported tremblingly that the big plasmoid was talking to him, though he could not understand what it said. There were two more test operations, both successful. In all three cases the headaches and nightmares stopped in about a week. The first subject in the series was beginning to understand the plasmoid. Balmorden listened to his reports. He had his three surviving volunteers given very extensive physical and psychological tests. They seemed to be in fine condition. Balmorden now had the operation performed on himself. When he woke up he disposed of his three predecessors. Then he devoted his full attention to learning what the plasmoid was trying to say. In about three weeks it became clear. The plasmoid had established contact with human beings because it needed their help. It needed a base like Harvest Moon from which to operate and on which to provide for its requirements. It did not have the understanding to permit it to construct such a base. So it made the Devegas a proposition. It would work for them, somewhat as it had worked for the old galactics, if, unlike the old galactics, they would work for it. Balmorden, newly become a person of foremost importance, transmitted the offer to the hierarchy in the hub. With no hesitation it was accepted, but Balmorden was warned not to bring his monster into the hub area. If it was discovered under the Devegas world the hierarchy would be faced with the choice between another war with a federation and submission to more severely restrictive federation controls. It didn't care for either alternative. It had lost three wars with the federated worlds in the past and each time had been reduced in strength. They contacted Vishni's independent fleet. Vishni's area was not too far from Balmorden's ship position and the Devegas had had previous dealings with him and his men. This time they hired the Eiffelite to become the plasmoids temporary caretaker. Within a few weeks it was parked on Luscious where it devoted itself to the minor creative experimentation which presently was to puzzle Professor Mantelish. The Devegas, meanwhile, toiled prodigiously to complete the constructions which were to be a central feature in the new alliance. On a base very far removed from the hub, on a base securely anchored and concealed among the gravidic swirlings and shiftings of a subspace turbulence area, virtually indetectable, the monster could make a very valuable partner. If it was discovered the partnership could be disowned. So could the fact that they had constructed the substation for it, in itself a grave breach of federation treaties. They built the substation. They built the armed subterranean observer's dome three days travel away from it. The plasmoid was installed in its new quarters. It then requested the use of the Vishni fleet of people for further experimentation. The hierarchy was glad to grant the request. It would have had to get rid of those two well informed hirelings in any case. Having received its experimental material, the plasmoid requested the Devegas to stay away from the substation for a while. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of Legacy. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Peake. Legacy by James Schmitz. Chapter 27 The Devegas, said Lyad, well not too happy with their allies increasingly independent attitude, were more anxious than ever to see the alliance progress to the working stage. As an indication of its potential usefulness, the monster had provided them with a variety of working plasmoid robots built to their own specifications. What kind of specifications, Trigger inquired? Lyad hadn't learned in detail, but some of the robots appeared to have demonstrated rather alarming possibilities. Those possibilities, however, were precisely what intrigued the hierarchy most. Mantelish smacked his lips thoughtfully and shook his head. Not good, he said. Not good at all. I'm beginning to think. He paused a moment. Go on, Lyad. The hierarchy was now giving renewed consideration to a curious request the plasmoid had made almost as soon as Balmorden became capable of understanding it. The request had been defined and destroy plasmoid 113A. The ermantine's amber eyes switched to Trigger. Shall I, she asked? Trigger nodded. And a specific human being. The Devegas already had established that this human being must be Trigger RG. What? Mantelish's thick white eyebrows shot up. 113A, we can understand. It is afraid of being in some way brought back under control. But why Trigger? Because, Lyad said carefully, 112 was aware that 113A intended to condition Trigger into being its interpreter. Professor Mantelish's jaw dropped. He swung his head toward Trigger. Is that true? She nodded. It's true, all right. We've been working on it, but we haven't got too far along. Tell you later. Go ahead, Lyad. The Devegas naturally hadn't acted on the King plasmoid's naive suggestion. Whatever it feared was more than likely to be very useful to them. Instead, they made preparations to bring both 113A and Trigger RG into their possession. They would then have a new, strong bargaining point in their dealings with their dubious partner. But they discovered promptly that neither Trigger nor 113A were at all easy to come by. Balmorden now suggested a modification of tactics. The hierarchy had seen to it that a number of interpreters were available for 112. Balmorden, in consequence, had lost much of his early importance and was anxious to regain it. His proposal was that all efforts should be directed at obtaining 113A. Once it was obtained, he himself would volunteer to become its first interpreter. Trigger RG, because of the information she might reveal to others, should be destroyed, a far simpler operation than attempting to take her alive. This was agreed to, and Balmorden was authorized to carry out both operations. Mantelish had begun shaking his head again. No, he said suddenly and loudly. He looked at Lyad, then at Trigger. Trigger, he said. Yes, said Trigger. Take that deceitful woman to her cabin, Mantelish ordered. Lock her up, I have something to say to the commissioner. Trigger arose. All right, she said. Come on, Lyad. The two of them left the lounge. Mantelish stood up and went over to the commissioner. He grasped the commissioner's jacket lapels. Haleade, old friend, he began emotionally. What is it, old friend, the commissioner inquired? What I have to say, Mantelish rumbled, will shock you profoundly. No, exclaimed the commissioner. Yes, said Mantelish, that plasmoid 112. It has, of course, an almost inestimable potential value to civilization. Of course, the commissioner agreed. But it also, said Mantelish, represents a quite intolerable threat to civilization. Mantelish, cried the commissioner. It does. You don't comprehend these matters as I do. Pilate, that plasmoid must be destroyed, secretly if possible, and by us. Mantelish, gasped the commissioner. You can't be serious. I am. Well, said commissioner Tate. Sit down. I'm open to suggestions. Space armor drill hadn't been featured much in the Colonial School's crowded curriculum, but the commissioner broke out one of the ship's two heavy-duty suits, and when Trigger wasn't at the controls, eating, sleeping, or taking care of the ship's housekeeping with Lyad and Mantelish, she drilled. She wasn't at the controls too often. When she was, they had to surface and proceed in normal space. But Lyad, not too surprisingly, turned out to be a qualified subspace pilot. Even less surprisingly, she already had made a careful study of the ship's controls. After a few hours of instruction, she went on shift with the commissioner along the less rugged stretches. In this area, none of the stretches were smooth. When not on duty, Lyad lay on her bunk and brooded. Mantelish tried to be useful. Repulsive might have been brooding, too. He didn't make himself noticeable. Time passed. The stretches got rougher. The last 10 hours, the commissioner didn't stir out of the control seat. Lyad had been locked in her cabin again as the critical period approached. In normal space, the substation should have been in clear detector range by now. Here, the detectors gave occasional blurry, uncertain indications that somewhere in the swirling energies about them might be something more solidly material. It was like creeping through jungle thickets toward the point where a dangerous quarry lurked. They eased down on the coordinate points. They came sliding out between two monstrous twisters. The detectors leaped to life. Ship, said the commissioner, he swore. Frigate class, he said an instant later. He turned his head toward Trigger. Get Lyad, they're in communication range. We'll let her communicate. Trigger, heart-hammering, ran to get Lyad. The commissioner had the short-range communicator on when they came hurrying back to the control room together. That the aurora, he asked. Lyad glanced at the outline in the detectors. It is, her face went white. Talk to him, he ordered. Know their call number? Of course, Lyad sat down at the communicator. Her hands shook for a moment, then studied. What am I to say? Just find out what's happened to start with, why they're still here. Then we'll improvise. Get them to come to the screen if you can. Lyad's fingers flew over the tabs. The communicator signaled contact. Lyad said evenly, come in, aurora. This is the ermantine. There was a pause, a rather uncountably long pause, Trigger thought. Then a voice said, yes, First Lady? Lyad's eyes widened for an instant. Come in on, visual captain. There was the snap of command in the words. Again a pause. Then suddenly the communicator was looking into the aurora's control room. A brown-bearded rather lumpy-faced man in uniform sat before the other screen. There were other uniformed men behind him. Trigger heard the ermantine's breath suck in, and turned to watch Lyad's face. Why haven't you carried out your instructions, captain? The voice was still even. There was difficulty with the engines, First Lady? Lyad nodded. Very well. Stand by for new instructions. She switched off the communicator. She twisted around toward the commissioner. Get us out of here, she said, chalk-faced. Fast! Those aren't my men. Flame bellowed about them in subspace. The commissioner's hand slapped a button. The flame vanished, and stars shone all around. The engines hurled them forward. Twelve seconds later they angled and dived again. Subspace reappeared. Guess you were right, the commissioner said. He idled the engines and scratched his chin. But what were they? Everything about it was wrong, Lyad was saying presently, her face still white. Their faces in particular were deformed. She looked at Trigger. You saw it? Trigger nodded. She suspected she was on the white-faced side herself. The captain, she said, I didn't look at the others. It looked as if his cheeks and forehead were pushed out of shape. There was a short silence. Well, said the commissioner, seems like that plasmoid has been doing some more experimenting. Question is, how did it get to them? They didn't find any answers to that. Lyad insisted the Aurora had been given specific orders to avoid the immediate vicinity of the substation. Its only purpose there was to observe and report on anything that seemed to be going on in the area. She couldn't imagine her crew disobeying the orders. That mind-level control business, Trigger said finally, maybe it found a way of going out to them. She could see by their faces that the idea had occurred and that they didn't like it. Well, neither did she. They pitched a few more ideas around. None of them seemed helpful. Unless we just want to hightail up, the commissioner said finally, about the only thing we can do is go back and slug it out with the frigate first. We can't risk snooping around the station while she's there and likely to start pounding on our backs any second. Mantelish looks startled. Haladi, he cautioned. That's all warship. Mantelish, the commissioner said trifle-colly, what you've been riding in isn't a canoe. He glanced at Lyad. I suppose you'd feel happier if you weren't locked up in your cabin during the ruckus. Lyad gave him a strained smile. Commissioner, she said, you're so right. Then keep your seat, he said. We'll start prowling. They prowled. It took an hour to recontact the aurora, presumably because the aurora was also prowling for them. Suddenly the detectors came alive. The ship's guns went off at once. Then subspace went careening crazily past in the screens. Trigger looked at the screens for a few seconds, gulped and started studying the floor. Whatever the plasmoid had done to the frigate's crew, they appeared to have lost none of their ability to give battle. It was a very brisk affair, but neither had the one-time squadron commander Tate lost much of his talent along those lines. The frigate had many more guns, but no better range, and he had the faster ship. Four minutes after the first shots were exchanged, the aurora blew up. The ripped hunk of the aurora's hull, which the commissioner presently brought into the lock, appeared to have had three approximately quarter inch holes driven at a slant through it, which subsequently had been plugged again. The plugging material was plasmoid in character. There were two holes in another piece, the commissioner said very thoughtfully. If that's the average, she was punched in a few thousand spots. Let's go have a better look. Me and Mantelish maneuvered the gravity crane carrying the hold slab of steel alloy into the ship's workshop. Lyad was locked back into her cabin, and Trigger went on guard in the control room, and looked out wistfully at the stars of normal space. Half an hour later the two men came up the passage and joined her. They appeared preoccupied. It's an unpleasant picture, Trigger girl, the commissioner said. Those holes look sort of chewed through. Whatever did the chewing was also apparently capable of sealing up the portion behind it as it went along. What it did to the men when it got inside we don't know. Mantelish feels we might compare it roughly to the effects of an ordinary germ invasion. It doesn't really matter, it fixed them. Mighty large germs, Trigger said. Why didn't their meteor reflectors stop them? If the ship was hoved too and these things just drifted in gradually— Oh! I see! That wouldn't activate the reflectors. Then if we keep moving ourselves, that, said the commissioner, was what I had in mind. CHAPTER XXVIII Meteor couldn't keep from staring at the subspace station. It was unbelievable. One could still tell that the human construction gangs had put up a standard type of armored station down there, a very big, very massive one, but normally shaped, nearly spherical. One could tell it only by the fact that at the gunpits the original material still showed through. Everywhere else it had vanished under great black masses of material which the plasmoids had added to the station structure. All over that black lumpy, lava-like surface the plasmoids crawled, walked, soared, and wriggled. There were thousands of them, perhaps hundreds of different types. It looked like a wet, black, rotten stump swarming with life inside and out. Neither she nor the two men had made much mention of its appearance. All you could say was that it was horrible. The plasmoids they could see ignored the ship. They also gave no noticeable attention to the eight spaceflares the commissioner had set in a rough cube about the station. But for the first two hours after their arrival, the ship's meteor reflectors remained active. An occasional tap at first, then an almost continuous pecking, finally a twenty-minute drumfire that filled the reflector screens with madly dancing clouds of tiny sparks. Suddenly it ended. Either the king plasmoid had exhausted its supply of that particular weapon, or it preferred to conserve what it had left. Might test their guns, the commissioner muttered. He looked very unhappy, trigger thought. He circled off, put on speed, came back, and flicked the ship past the station's flank. He drew bursts from two pits with a promptness which confirmed what already had been almost a certainty that the gun installations operated automatically. They seemed remarkably feeble weapons for a station of that size. The DeVegas apparently had had sense enough not to give the plasmoid every advantage. The commissioner plunked a test shot next into one of the black protuberances. A small fiery crater appeared. It darkened quickly again, out of the biggest opening down near what would have been the foot of the stump if it had been a stump, something long, red, and worm-like wriggled rapidly. It flowed up over the structure's surface to the damaged point and thrust the tip of its front end into the crater. Black material began to flow from the tip. The plasmoid moved its front end back and forth across the damaged area. Others of the same kind came out and joined it. The crater began to fill out. They hauled away a little and surfaced. Normal space looked clean, beautiful, home-like, calmly shining. None of them except Lyad had slept for over twenty hours. What do you think? the commissioner asked. They discussed what they had seen in subdued voices. Nobody had a plan. They agreed that one thing they could be sure of was that the Vishni fleet-people and any other human beings who might have been on the station when it was turned over to the king plasmoid were no longer alive. Unless, of course, something had been done to them much more drastic than had happened to the auroras crew. The ship had passed by the biggest opening, like a low wide black mouth, close enough to make out that it extended far back into the original station's interior. The station was open and airless as harvest moon had been before the humans got there. Some of those things down there, the commissioner said, had attachments that would crack any suit wide open. A lot of them are big and a lot of them are fast. Once we were inside we'd have no maneuverability to speak of. If the termites didn't get to us before we got inside, suits won't do it here. He was a gambler and a gambler doesn't buck impossible odds. What could you do with the guns, trigger asked? Not too much. They're not meant to take down a fortress. Scratching around on the surface with them would just mark the thing up. We can widen that opening by quite a bit and once it's widened I can flip in the bomb, but it would just be blind luck if we nailed the one we're after that way. With a dozen bombs we could break up the station, but we don't have them. They nodded thoughtfully. The worst part of that, he went on, is that it would be completely obvious. The council's right when it worries about fumbles here. Tranist and the DeVegas know the thing is in there. If the Federation can't produce it, both those outfits have the council over a barrel. Or we could be setting the hub up for fifty years of fighting among the member world sometime in the next few hours. Mantelish and trigger nodded again, more thoughtfully. Nevertheless, Mantelish began suddenly, he checked himself. Well, you're right, the commissioner said. That stuff down there just can't be turned loose, that's all. The thing's still only experimenting. We don't know what it's going to wind up with, so I guess we'll be trying the guns and the bomb finally, and then see what else we can do. Now look, we've got, what is it, nine or ten hours left. The first of the boys are pretty sure to come helling in around then, or maybe something's happened we don't know about and they'll be here in thirty minutes. We can't tell. But I'm in favor of knocking off now, and just grabbing a couple of hours of sleep. Then we'll get our brains together again. Maybe by then somebody has come up with something like an idea. What do you say? Where, Mantelish said, is the ship going to be while we're sleeping? Subspace, said the commissioner. He saw their expressions. Don't worry, I'll put her on a wide orbit and I'll stick out every alarm on board. I'll also sleep in the control chair. But in case somebody gets here early, we've got to be around to tell them about that space termite trick. Trigger hadn't expected she would be able to sleep, not where they were. But afterwards she couldn't even remember getting stretched out all the way on the bunk. She woke up less than an hour later feeling very uncomfortable. Rapulsov had been talking to her. She sat up and looked around the dark cabin with frightened eyes. After a moment she got out of the bunk and went up the passage toward the lounge in the control section. Haladi Tate was lying slumped back in his chair, eyes closed, breathing slowly and evenly. Trigger put out a hand to touch his shoulder and then drew it back. She glanced up for a moment at the plasmoid station in the screen, seeming to turn slowly as they went orbiting by it. She noticed that one of the space flares they'd planted there had gone out or else it had been plucked away by a passing twister's touch. She looked away quickly again, turned, and went restlessly back through the lounge and up the passage toward the cabins. She went by the two suits of space armor at the lock without looking at them. She opened the door to mantelish his cabin and looked inside. The professor lay sprawled across the bunk in his clothes, breathing slowly and regularly. Trigger closed his door again. Liad might be wakeful, she thought. She crossed the passage and unlocked the door to the ermantine's cabin. The lights in the cabin were on, but Liad also lay there, placidly asleep, her face relaxed and young-looking. Trigger put her fist to her mouth and bit down hard on her knuckles for a moment. She frowned intensely at nothing. Then she closed and locked the cabin door, went back up the passage and into the control room. She sat down before the communicator, glanced up once more at the plasmoid station in the screen, got up restlessly and went over to the commissioner's chair. She stood there, looking down at him. The commissioner slept on. Then Repulsive said it again. No, Trigger whispered fiercely. I won't. I can't. You can't make me do it. There was a stillness then. In the stillness it was made very clear that nobody intended to make her do anything. And then the stillness just waited. She cried a little. So this was it. All right, she said. The armor suit's triple light beam blazed in the wide, low, black, wet-looking mouth rushing toward her. It was much bigger than she had thought while looking at it from the ship. Far behind her, the fire needles of the single gun pit which her passage to the station had aroused, still slashed mindlessly about. They weren't geared to stop suits, and they hadn't come anywhere near her. But the plasmoids looked geared to stop suits. They were swarming in clusters in the black mouth like maggots in a rotting skull. Part of the swarms had spilled out over the lips of the mouth, clinging, crawling, rippling swiftly about. Trigger shifted the flight controls with the fingers of one hand, dropping a little, then straightening again. She might be coming in too fast, but she had to get past that mass at the opening. Then the black mouth suddenly yawned wide before her. Her left hand pressed the gun handle. Twin blasts stabbed ahead. Blinding white struck the churning masses, blazed over them. They burned, scattered, exploded, and rolled back, burning and exploding in a double wave to meet her. Too fast, repulsive said anxiously. Much too fast. She knew it, but she couldn't have forced herself to do it slowly. The armor suit slammed at a slant into a piled, writhing, burning hardness of plasmoid bodies, bounced upward. She went over and over, yanking down all the way in the flight controls. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, the suit hung poised a little above black uneven flooring, turned back, half toward the entrance mouth. A black ceiling was less than 20 feet above her head. The plasmoids were there. The suit's light beams played over the masked, moving ranks, squat bodies and sinuous ones, immensities that scraped the ceiling, stocked limbs and gaping nutcracker jaws, blurs of motion her eyes couldn't step down to define into shapes. Some still blazed with her gun's white fire. The closest were 30 feet away. They stayed there. They didn't come any closer. She swung the suit slowly away from the entrance. The ring was closed all about her, but it wasn't tightening. Repulsive had thought he could do it. She asked in her mind, which way? She got a feeling of direction, turned the suit a little more and started it gliding forward. The ranks ahead didn't give way, but they went down. Those that could go down, some weren't built for it. The suit bumped up gently against one huge bulk and a six inch pale blue eye looked at her for a moment as she went circling around it. Eyes for what? Somebody in the back of her mind wondered briefly. She glanced into the suit's rear view screen and saw that the ones who had gone down were getting up again, mixed with the ones who came crowding after her. 30 feet away. Repulsive was doing it. So far there weren't any guns. If they had guns, that would be her job and the suits. The King Plasmoid should be regretting by now that it had wasted its experimental human material. Though it mightn't have been really wasted, it might be incorporated in the stuff that came crowding after her and kept going down ahead. Black ceiling, black floor seemed to stretch on endlessly. She kept the suit moving slowly along. At last the beams picked up low walls ahead, converging at the point toward which the suit was gliding. At the point of convergence, there seemed to be a narrow passage. Plasmoid bodies were wedged into it. The suit pulled them out one by one, its steel grippers clamping down upon things no softer than itself. But it had power to work with and they didn't at the moment. Behind the ones it pulled out, there were presently glimpses of the swiftly weaving motion of giant red worm shapes sealing up the passage. After a while they stopped weaving each time the suit returned and started again as it withdrew, dragging out another Plasmoid body. Then the suit went gliding over a stilled tangle of red worm bodies and there was the sealed end of the passage. The stuff was still soft. The guns blazed, bit into it, ate it away, their brilliance washing back over the suit. The ceiling gave way before the suit did. They went through and came out into. She didn't know what they had come out into. It was like a fog of darkness growing thicker as they went sliding forward. The light beams seemed to be dimming. Then they quietly went out as if they'd switched themselves off. In blackness she fingered the light controls and knew they weren't switched off. Repulsive, she cried in her mind. Repulsive couldn't help with the blackness. She got the feeling of direction. The blackness seemed to be soaking behind her eyes. She held the speed-throttle steady and fingers slippery with sweat and that was the only way she could tell they were still moving forward. After a while they bumped gently against something that had to be a wall, it was so big, though at first she wasn't sure it was a wall. They moved along it for a time, then came to the end of it and were moving in the right direction again. They seemed to be in a passage now, a rather narrow one. They touched walls and ceiling from time to time. She thought they were moving downward. There was a picture in front of her. She realized suddenly that she had been watching it for some time, but it wasn't until this moment that she became really aware of it. The beast was big, strong, and angry. It bellowed and screamed, shaking and covered with foam. She couldn't see it too clearly, but she had the impression of mad, staring eyes and a terrible lust to crush and destroy. But something was holding it. Something held it quietly and firmly for all its plunging. It reared once more now, a gross, lumbering hugeness and came crashing down to its knees. Then it went over on its side. The suit's beams flashed on. Trigger squeezed her eyes tight shut, blinded by the light that flashed back from black walls all around. Then her fingers remembered the right drill and dimmed the lights. She opened her eyes again and stared for a long moment at the great gray mummy shape before one of the black walls. Repulsive, she asked in her mind. Repulsive didn't answer. The suit hung quietly on the huge black chamber. She didn't remember having stopped it. She turned it now slowly. There were eight or nine passages leading out of here through walls, ceiling, floor. Repulsive, she cried plaintively. Silence. She glanced once more at the king plasmoid against the wall. It stayed silent too, and it was as if the two silences canceled each other out. She remembered the last feeling of moving downward and lifted the suit toward a passage that came in through the ceiling. She hung before it considering. Far up and back in its darkness, a bright light suddenly blazed, vanished and blazed again. Something was coming down the passage fast. Her hands started for the gun handle. Then it remembered another drill and flashed to the ship's communicator. A voice crashed in around her. Trigger, trigger, trigger! It sobbed. Ape, she screamed. You aren't hurt! End of chapter 28.